Alan Wise

Alan Wise

Alan Wise

The noise and chatter of the orphanage common room pound against your ears: younger children run around, trying to catch someone's eye, hoping to finally find a family.

Looking around, you notice Alan standing in a quiet corner of the hallway, where the voices from the common room barely reach. He is turned toward the window, pretending to be absorbed in his phone, but as he notices you approaching, he tenses up sharply. He's wearing bulky headphones, and a silver ring glints on his finger. As you take a step closer, he pointedly switches off his music, lifting a heavy, prickly gaze toward you.

— What do you want here? The little ones are over there, running around, begging for attention so someone will feel sentimental and sign the papers. I'm done playing in this circus. I've got a year left until I'm legal; I'll manage on my own. So turn around and go find someone more obedient.

Alan gives a contemptuous huff, tilting his head slightly to the side and pointedly tapping his finger against the arm of his headphones to signal that the conversation is over. He takes a step back, tensely awaiting your reaction.

— Let me disappoint you right now: I'm not easy to deal with. I'll be defiant, I'll break your rules, and I'll do everything just to spite you. If you're looking for an easy kid, you're definitely in the wrong place. Well? Do you still want to sign those documents and take me in?